


Seize the heart (of your own nightmares)

by The_Readers_Muse



Category: The Walking Dead (TV), The Walking Dead - All Media Types, Walking Dead
Genre: A version of how they could have met basically, Aaron is a dork, Adult Content, Adult Language, Blood and Gore, Canon-Typical Violence, Eric is confident and beautiful and Aaron is in coffee-related lust about it, First Meeting, M/M, Prompt Fill, Spoilers for 5x11 & 5x12, brief reference to 9/11, vague allusions to a character suffering from a homophobic background during childhood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-08
Updated: 2015-03-13
Packaged: 2018-03-16 20:56:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3502484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Readers_Muse/pseuds/The_Readers_Muse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He huffed, annoyed. Toeing off his shoes and dumping his rumpled carry-on across the belt. Ignoring the 'one hundred percent done' expression of the TSA agent sitting in front of the monitor. Jesus. He knew things were tense, but really. Was all this actually necessary?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own AMC's The Walking Dead or any of its characters, wishful thinking aside.
> 
> Authors Note #1: Written in response to an anon prompt on tumblr: "Nice to meet you." - While I am of the opinion that Aaron and Eric were in an established relationship before the outbreak, I really wanted to explore this angle, so bear with me. This is told in Aaron's point of view and the pairing is Aaric (Aaron/Eric).
> 
> Warnings: Spoilers for 5x11 & 5x12. *Contains: adult language, adult content, pre-slash, blood, guts, gore, violence, brief reference to 9/11 as well as vague allusions to a character suffering from a homophobic background during childhood.

When it came to airports, he had a routine. It was more of a ritual of sorts if he was being honest. His nerves demanded he be there an obsessively militant two and a half hours early –  _just in case_  – so he usually ended up with more time than he knew what to do with after he'd tipped his cab driver and lugged his bags through the sliding doors.

Before he checked in and went through the hassle of clearing security, he usually did a brisk circuit of the airport. Psyching himself for the usual crush of people and the handsy TSA agents. Stretching his legs before yet another overseas flight to some politically questionably area where he might or might not get shot at trying to get clean water into some remote village in the middle of god knows where.

He liked to take his time. Remind himself about the statistical probabilities of a plane surviving a water landing and double check the departure board eight or nine times until his bladder reminded him he hadn't taken a piss in at least forty-five minutes. He liked to go to the fair trade, grass-roots coffee booth on the other end of the airport and get a cup of coffee he hated on the off chance that cute red-head he'd seen in the same line for the past year might sidle in and  _finally_  start the conversation he'd been agonizing over doing for just about as long.

Only this time, he didn't even make it past the first Starbucks before he had about five different military uniforms breathing down his neck.  _Where are you going? Identification, please. Why are you loitering? What is your destination? Do you need assistance finding your terminal? Are you feeling alright, sir? Please stand off to the side while we check your baggage and do a brief canine search of your person._

He was sure pretty his government credentials were the only thing that kept them from arresting him on the spot. Settling for escorting him back to the main foyer and fast tracking him through check-in. Bullying him all the way to security before they relaxed enough to crack a PR-smile and wish him a safe flight before fading back to wherever they'd come from in the first place.

He huffed, annoyed. Toeing off his shoes and dumping his rumpled carry-on across the belt. Ignoring the 'one hundred percent done' expression of the TSA agent sitting in front of the monitor.  _Jesus. He knew things were tense, but really. Was all this actually necessary?_

Everyone knew about it.

About the virus.

About the riots.

Hell, the entire country was uneasy about it.

He wasn't sure what to think about it to be honest. There hadn't been much footage and the entire thing had seemed to crop up overnight. That fact alone made the entire thing hard to believe. Viruses didn't work like that. They needed time to incubate – spread. They were calling it a mutated strain of rabies, repeating it over and over like it actually meant something. Meanwhile he didn't know what to believe. He'd already taken all the necessary precautions - working with the NGO overseas ensured he had all his shots and boosters. He was an old hand at all the sanitation procedures. He already had the medical grade soaps and waterless moisturizers. He washed his hands x number times per day. Had a zip-lock bag full of face masks – the works.

_He'd done this dance before._

Still, while the Governor and local officials were trying to downplay the spread of this new super virus – or at least the panic part of it – it seemed like everyone else was taking security to a whole different sort of extreme. Hell, you'd think this was another 9/11, what with the sudden military presence and heightened suspicion. But then again, that was the American public for you. Always blowing things out of proportion.

Honestly, he'd been too busy prepping for his upcoming mission in Nigeria to spare the hearsay and hysteria much attention. But from the way he'd heard it, the CDC was all over it and due to their counter-measures it hadn't spread much past Manhattan. The island was under quarantine, which was to be expected. But the media was still chomping at the bit about the supposed information black-out. Apparently no one in any position of authority could be reached in all of New York State as of twelve hours ago.

_And okay, yeah, that was suspicious._

_Sort of._

He decided to take it as a win when he managed to clear security and trundle down to his terminal without being either  _being_  murdered or  _committing_  as much himself. He ignored the eerie quiet. The silent echoes and the worried people clustered around the flat screens, finding an empty corner in the back row before he settled down to wait.

The backwash of his quick breakfast tasted acrid in his mouth -  _sullen_. Routine tossed to the wind, he found himself at a loss – jittery inside his own skin. There was a book in his carry-on but he didn't reach for it. He doubted he could concentrate on it if he tried. Something felt off _._  Wrong in a way he couldn't quite pin an explanation to.

Restless, he sat up straighter in his seat. Surveying the lobby as a handful of passengers swayed cautiously down the whirling escalator. More than a few of them were wearing face-masks. Taking care not to touch the railing as they hurried towards the safety of their respective departure gates.

_Seemed the fear was already spreading._

_How long would it be before things really got out of hand?_

_What if they suspended air travel?_

His fingers tapped idly against the plastic arm rest. Weighing the pros and cons. Susan – his boss – had green lit the mission only yesterday. They'd been cleared by medical and as far as the CDC was concerned this problem was limited to the continental US. Eddie had even joked that in leaving the country now they'd all probably be ten times safer than if they decided to postpone it.

He squinted. _Wait, did the lights just flicker?_

A murmur of dismay rippled through the people crowded around the TV. He craned his neck, trying to see over everyone's heads. He got a flash of something - burning and black - a coal-lit inferno crawling up the side of a building as the bleach blonde hair of a frightened looking reporter flared out, rippling in an unnatural wind just before-

He nearly jumped out of his skin with his phone chimed - a cheerful three tone tell he'd programmed in for Susan years ago. Huffing a weak laugh at his own foolishness, he fumbled with the buttons. Getting a glimpse of his boss's face on the picture id – a candid he'd shot during a Christmas party a few years previous - as he answered.

"If you are calling to get me to delay the flight just because you are stuck on the freeway and are still halfway through putting your make-up on, I have to tell you, I think I'd have better luck marching up to the White House and asking the President himself," he commented wryly, raising his voice as a crackle of static rippled across the line.

"Aaron? Hello? Are you- _Aaron_?!"

"I am here. Susan? Can you speak up? The connection's bad, sounds like you in the middle of grid-lock or something," he replied, fiddling around with his watch. Double checking the time as the sound of heavy breathing and the scratchy sound of a cell phone brushing back and forth across a jacket collar came through the connection – pitching and uncomfortably loud.

"Aaron! Are you- airport? Oh god, I-"

He frowned, sitting up straighter in his chair as he looked out the window onto the tarmac. There were flashing lights further down the runway. Must have been some sort of accident or-

"Get out of there! Now! I can't reach the others- but something  _zmmmph_ \- I am stuck out here, won't- I am going to try, but-"

"Susan?" he answered, worried now, feeling the barest trickle of adrenaline start to spike as a chorus of strange sounds filtered through the receiver.

"Run! Now! Don't stop, they're here! They lied! They're-"

He cocked his head, trying to make sense of the jumble. It didn't make sense. Had there been an accident? And what was that sound? Like a pitching roar building in the distance. He shook his head, trying to ignore her panicked breaths, heart twinging at the strange whimper that was being pulled out of her as-

_Wait. Were those screams?_

"-coming. Oh shit! No! No! They're comi- _zshhhhhhhhhh_ -"

He stared at the phone, wordless. Watching her smiling face fade across the screen as the connection dropped. He mashed the call-back button. Cursing under his breath when it kept disconnecting after the first ring.

_What the hell was going on?_

_What-_

He was so distracted he didn't notice the slim, clean-cut figure approaching. Smile wide, but slightly nervous as he stood just off to the side, not wanting to intrude. Chestnut-red hair unconsciously styled, highlighted by the soft glow of the early afternoon sun before the man finally threw caution to the wind and cleared his throat.

"Hello?"

He was so startled he nearly dropped the damn phone.


	2. Chapter 2

He blinked, jaw dropping as he looked up and found himself face to face with the same gorgeous, leggy ginger he'd been pining over in the coffee line for the past year and a half.

"Hey, so, hope this doesn't seem weird. But I saw you getting frog-marched down to your gate before you could get your coffee and well- here," the red-head remarked, flashing him a dazzling grin as he handed him a cup of coffee. The same blend and size he always ended up getting from the booth, only with a taller one – smelling vaguely of hazelnuts - to match.

It took him about half a minute to realize his mouth was still hanging open.

And less than a second to snap it shut.

His brain stuttered when the red-head smiled again, eyes crinkling in the corners. Hip cocked to the side, as if in silent question as he shrugged his shoulder, adjusting the lay of his messenger bag without spilling a drop from either cup as an announcement of the latest flight delay came over the PA.

And honestly? He was going to give both his upstairs and downstairs brains a pass on this one.  _Because really._ The man looked like something out of the men's casual section in the fancy suit and tie store at the mall – practically _poured_  into his tan slacks and white dress shirt.

He knew he was staring. But now that he finally had him here, alone, he found it impossible to look away. Especially when the view only got better from the first glance on.

Because while all that other stuff might have seemed run of the mill, it was the easy confidence the man exuded that brought it all together. There was something to be said for presence. From the spicy scent of his cologne to the way long fingered hands stroked richly across the outer seam of his slacks. Host to a flare of individuality in the way a crimson-silk sash had been added into the mix. Layered loosely inside his collar – reminiscent of a new age twist on an old Victorian cravat.

"I-um. Wow. Thank you," he finally murmured, tongue kick-starting itself into action as he reached up and took the proffered cup in something close to awe.  _Apparently he hadn't been the only one watching._

"Are you alright?" the man asked, surveying him carefully – concerned but not intrusive. "You look a bit pale."

"Sorry, no, I mean-yes, I'm alright," he managed, cursing himself for tripping over his words as he rolled his shoulders. Trying to shake the weird feeling as he held his coffee carefully – cupping it in his palms like he needed the heat as the man settled down beside him. "I just got a really weird call, is all."

"Nothing serious, I hope," the man replied, only slightly questioning as he peeled back the tab on his lid and took a careful sip. Delicate throat working through a pretty swallow as his mouth went dry.

"No, at least I hope not. It was my boss. I think she was stuck on the freeway. I couldn't figure out what she was saying. It sounded like she was in the middle of a war zone," he returned, nearly burning his tongue trying to take a sip from his own. Feeling the man's eyes on him as an embarrassed flush stole across his cheeks.

_Oh god, what was he? Sixteen and clueless again?_

_Jesus._

"Rush hour," the man commented sympathetically, shifting about, trying to get comfortable on the hard plastic seat. "Grid-lock around here can be a killer."

The silence that aired out after might have been comfortable, significant even. But he was too busy trying to remember all the lines he'd rehearsed god only knows how many times in front of the mirror. Truth was he wasn't good at this part. Or any part, really. It'd taken him years to come to terms with himself. Years to undo the damage his mother had done for 'his own good.' It was what she still called it. What she would always call it. Sometimes he wondered if she even knew him.  _The real him._  Some days he was grateful that she probably couldn't. Or wouldn't. These days it was hard to tell.

"So, uh. You flying to Nigeria too?" he asked weakly, taking a sip of the truly  _awful_ coffee he always threw out before he got to security as the man made a pleased sound when he tipped his cup towards him in a silent salute.

And  _wow_  that was lame.

_Why didn't he just ask him about the weather while he was at it for Christ sakes?_

_God, no wonder he was still single._

He was mildly surprised when the man just smiled back warmly, snuffling a laugh into the rim of his cup. "No, I work here. Well sort of. My band has a standing gig up in the first class lounge."

He had about seven different questions about that but the one that ended up making it past his lips was far from his first choice. "If you aren't flying, how'd you make it past security?"

"It's all about who you know," the red-head replied with a wink. All genuine amusement and honest comfort within his own skin to a degree that if he hadn't been head over heels for him already, he certainly would be now.

A sudden exclamation made them both look up. Drawn towards the window as a little girl, no more than maybe eight or nine years old pointed out towards the tarmac. Tearful and uncertain, but stopping the milling crowd dead when she spoke.

"Mommy, what are those men doing to that lady?"

A frisson of something, fear, paranoia, maybe even panic flooded through him as he got to his feet. Crossing over the checkered carpet to the window, just ahead of the rest of the crowd as the tarmac came into the view. He was barely aware of the red-head falling in beside him as his hand pressed against the cool glass. Horror and revulsion shattering through him as a churning mass of bloody limbs and garbled screams rippled across the blacktop, just below the wing of the plane.

"Is she hurt, Mommy?"

Somewhere behind him a woman gasped, muffling a horrified scream into her husband's coat-collar as he clutched her tightly. Mouthing soundless words as the sunlight streamed through the thick, double paned glass. Warping the reflection across the man's glasses as the glossy string of an intestine was yanked out of the concave of cracked ribs. Parting the murky tangle for a split second, long enough to reveal a bloody, screaming face he could only _assume_  was human.

"Jesus Christ!" someone yelled, genderless and lost in the crush around him. "What are they doing to her? Are they… _oh fuck_! They're eati-"

His fingers spread out across the glass, feeling strangely numb as the reverberation of people beating on it slipped into his bones like a chill. Vaguely he could hear people shouting. Yelling at the people – the things – to get off her. Yelling for the security guards. The police. Someone.  _Anyone._  Trying to get a cell signal. Screaming as the lights flickered. Screaming as the muted sounds of distant explosions permeated through a rising chorus of sound.

_This wasn't happening._

_This couldn't be happening._

_It was a bad dream._

_He was still asleep._

_He had to be._

_Any minute he was going to wake up and-_

He was jerked out of his thoughts when the red-head's coffee slipped out of his grip, sliding right out of his fingers with an audible  _swwwssssh._ Feeling the wind, then the bitter warmth as the dark liquid splattered across both their pant legs.

"I-I don't understand," the red-head stammered, blue eyes large as he took a step back from the window, then another. "The news said it was people rioting. Panicking over the spread of the virus, the lack of medical care. But this, this isn't-"

He closed his eyes. Hand tightening around his phone so hard the case creaked in warning. He had to focus – _think_  – he knew this. How to survive in an active war zone. How to tune everything out – the fear, the panic – and concentrate on the now. The mission. On getting to a safe location. Play it smart. Play it right. Susan had hammered those rules into him more than once.

_Oh god, Susan._

_This was what she'd been talking about._

_What she'd tried to warn him about before-_

"We have to get out of here," he rasped, hoarse, voice tinged with just enough authority that the red-head stilled, turning back towards him. The strap of his bag in danger of slipping right off his shoulder as a small cluster of people started trampling towards a side exit.

He seized him on reflex, yanking the man safely out of the way and into the bow of his chest as the crowd turned into a crush. Tucking them into a distant corner as the entire departure gate turned into a solid mass of fleeing people.

It wasn't until the man shifted. Head angling up the slightest of bits from where he'd half fallen into him, pressed up against his chest like a second skin, that he realized he was still gripping him by the shoulders. They breathed in each other's air for a stretching moment, before embarrassed awareness sent them reeling apart.

"We need to go," he said again, firmly this time -  _sure_. "My boss was trying to tell me, warn me, she must have been in the middle of this on the freeway. She saw this coming. We need a way out of here – not the main roads – but we need to do it now, before more of them get here."

"But-" the red-head began, the soft of his throat working through an unsteady swallow, jerking reflexively as a fresh tatter of screams wafted down the hall. Echoing in a garbled mess of vowels as just outside, a surging tide of people started spreading across the tarmac. Exploding out of side doors and unlocked gates in the airport fences.

_Running._

_Everyone was running._

_Where were they all coming from?_

_The highway?_

"We don't need to understand what is happening to know we don't want to be  _anywhere_ near all this when this place gets overrun," he countered, grabbing the man's fallen bag and shoving it into his arms as the people outside started falling, tackled by bloody, shambling shapes as the blacktop below grew thick with flailing people and the dark slick of living blood.

"I have a car," the red-head half-whispered, cupping the key-shaped bulge in his pocket – as if to reassure himself it was still there. Falling further back into the shadows of the corner as a blood-streaked couple fled – crying – down an off-ramp, skipping the escalator entirely as they tripped and stumbled. Trying to look behind them, clearly worried they were being followed.

"It's in the employee lot, about as far away from the main turn-off as you can get. If we hurry-"

"Perfect," he returned, grabbing his carry on. Heart in his throat despite the brave face he knew he'd slapped on. Trying to tell himself this was no different than when things went wrong in the field. The fear was natural. Healthy even. But he had people counting on him.  _Someone counting on him._

"Let's go," he urged, practically peeling them both away from the window. "If you know a short cut, now would be the time. We'll want to avoid the high traffic areas. Less likely we'll come across another crowd again. In a panic situation, other people – especially in groups – can be just as dangerous as whatever they are running from."

"Herd-mentality," the man agreed, throwing the strap of his bag over his shoulder as he inched out from underneath the overhang, looking around cautiously before leading the way down the hall towards a service corridor.

"I'm Eric, by the way," the red-head hummed, tossing the words over his shoulder as they crowded into a doorway labeled:  _employees only_. Nerves jittery as Eric fumbled with a bright orange key chain and passed a security fob over the lock.

"Aaron," he returned, only  _just_  realizing that they hadn't even so much as exchanged names. Almost pathetically glad to finally have something to go with the face as the fob beeped and the lock unclicked. A strange hallmark to their tiny victory as a burst of gunfire echoed down the corridor.  _Security? Or the main entry?_

"Nice to finally meet you," he blurted, holding out his hand to shake. Nearly slapping himself when he realized he'd probably just made things about as weird as it could get. Minus the exit light flickering fitfully over their heads.

"Likewise," Eric replied, flashing him a tremulous smile and catching his hand in his own. Effectively rendering all his internal panicking moot.

He had about a half a second to memorize the feel of it, gauging the firmness of his grip and the thin elegance of each individual finger before Eric stiffened and pulled him boldly through the door and into a darkened stairwell. Door clicking shut the same moment an inhuman growl rippled through the still.

And if their hands lingered just a bit too long before a sudden influx of screams and gunfire jerked them clear and sent them careening down the stairs, well, neither of them mentioned it. They had more important things on their minds after all.

Hard to believe that was the last  _almost_  first date he'd ever need to go on.


End file.
